A Summer of Discontent

Bartholomew recalled that Michael had feasted handsomely in the refectory not more than an hour before. He supposed the sight of Blanche’s repast had whetted the monk’s appetite again.

‘Do not expect me to give you any of this trout,’ said Blanche with her mouth full. ‘It is too good to be wasted on fuelling a romp with the Bishop’s whore-child.’

‘I will be gentle,’ insisted Tysilia, reaching for Michael again, but missing when the monk side-stepped her with surprising agility. She snatched at him yet again, and the exercise was repeated several times before she realised she would not catch him. She gave a heavy sigh and folded her arms, pouting, while the courtiers and Ralph watched in open amusement.

‘It is time you went home to de Lisle,’ said Bartholomew, deciding to put an end to the spectacle. He took her arm and pulled her towards the door. ‘He will be wondering where you are, and may be worried about you.’

‘He knows Ralph is with me,’ said Tysilia, trying to struggle away from him. ‘And Ralph will allow me to come to no harm.’

‘De Lisle would never forgive me if I did,’ muttered Ralph resentfully. ‘Although I do not think he has any idea about the enormity of the task he has set me.’

‘Feign sickness tomorrow and let her spend a day in his company,’ advised Blanche. ‘That is all that will be necessary for her to be found floating face-down in the river at the Monks’ Hythe.’

‘Come on,’ said Bartholomew, pushing Tysilia out of the chamber in front of him. She was thick-skinned and resilient and he did not like her, but even he felt uncomfortable to hear her murder discussed in such earnest tones.

‘Why does Brother Michael not want to spend an evening with me?’ pouted Tysilia, as she stood with Bartholomew outside the Outer Hostry. Ralph was with them, although he kept his distance, evidently deciding that every moment she was speaking to Bartholomew was a moment less he would have to deal with her. Sensibly, Michael remained inside with Blanche, asking more questions about the stolen cup and her knowledge of the monks who had been murdered. Bartholomew could hear Blanche declaring that she despised Robert for his obsequiousness, Thomas for his selfishness and gluttony, and William for his secret ways. Blanche, it seemed, had little good to say about anyone.

‘Well?’ demanded Tysilia, when Bartholomew did not reply. ‘I am beautiful, so Michael has no reason to resist me. Why does he?’

‘He is a monk,’ said Bartholomew gently. ‘Monks do not form liaisons with women; they swore sacred vows not to do so.’

‘Michael swore such a vow?’ asked Tysilia, wide-eyed, as if she had never encountered the notion of celibacy before. ‘What is wrong with him? Does he have some disease that prevents him from enjoying himself with women? Or some physical difficulty?’

‘No,’ said Bartholomew, who was sure Michael had no problems whatsoever in that area. ‘But you should not pursue him so brazenly. He does not like it.’

‘How could he not like being pursued by me?’ asked Tysilia. ‘I am a goddess: my body is perfect and I have a good mind. Blanche also says I am easy, which must also be a good thing.’

‘Oh,’ said Bartholomew, at a loss for words. He hated conversations with Tysilia: they rambled in whatever direction she chose and left him wary and bewildered.

Tysilia turned doe eyes on him, great black pools with no spark of life in them at all. ‘Being easy is better than being difficult. My uncle says Blanche is difficult and no one likes her. Therefore, being easy is a virtue.’ She smiled proudly, pleased with her reasoning.

‘Did you take Blanche’s chalice?’ asked Bartholomew, feeling the need to take control of the discussion.

‘Me?’ asked Tysilia innocently. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘To give to William, in exchange for a promise that he would take you away from Blanche. Who told you he was your brother? Him?’

‘Yes,’ said Tysilia. ‘But he has no reason to lie, and I have always wanted a brother.’

‘He is not related to you,’ said Bartholomew. ‘He is too old, for a start.’

‘He said that his family were obliged to part with me when I was infantile. He told me that de Lisle is not my uncle at all — just a family friend.’

‘And why would a wealthy family like William’s be obliged to pass one of its daughters to a family friend?’ asked Bartholomew warily.

Tysilia sighed. ‘I cannot remember the details now. He told me all this when we first arrived in Ely — days ago now — and facts slip from my mind after a while. I think he said it was because de Lisle was lonely. I forget why. Perhaps he has sworn one of these vows, like Michael.’